Psychological warfare
by MissEclipse
Summary: A few short insights as to what could have possibly pushed our favourite pilot over the edge. Not all necessarily to do with the war, but nonetheless all personal battles that Murdock endured through his life. Final two chapters now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**[****_The A-Team is still the red-hot property of Stephen J Cannell (RIP)_****]**

**Chapter 1: Autumn leaves**

[_Timeline: 1962 - Oklahoma, Texas_]

Everything around him looked bleak and uninviting. Even the gathering clouds looked leaden and foreboding. The grey-coloured gravestones bearing the names of his Grandparents loomed up ominously before him. He couldn't bring himself to avert his eyes down to the two gaping holes in the ground bearing their coffins.

After all, it was his fault they were dead. If only he hadn't been singing that stupid song at the top of his voice in the back seat, then Gramps wouldn't have got distracted and crashed the truck. He would have seen that good-for-nothing drunk-driver speeding on the wrong side of the road as he came hurtling round the corner towards them.

The sound of cold steel crashing together as the vehicles collided still invaded his mind. He could still breathe in the smell of burning rubber. The reflection of pure horror in his Gramps' eyes as they met his in the rear mirror, terrorised his mind like a hunter stalking its prey. And the image of his Granny's frail body being thrown forcibly against the windscreen made his stomach wrench violently.

Somehow he had managed to walk away from the collision with barely a scratch on him. But that just made the guilt even more of a burden to carry round. Damn that _Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini_. If he hadn't been showing off, trying to get Gramps to sing along with him, none of this would have happened. Gramps just couldn't get the words right and Granny was laughing hysterically beside him at his tongue-tied efforts. But nobody was laughing now.

Finding no solace in the priest's words, he looked round desperately for something comforting to cling on to. His mother had already been taken from him at an early age and his father had been a non-entity since day one. With no brothers, sisters or other relatives to speak of, the 15-year old was well and truly on his own.

Suddenly the light afternoon breeze whipped up a pile of autumn leaves, bringing a welcoming splash of colour to the drab surroundings. He wasn't sure where they had come from, as the graveyard and bordering land were barren and dry.

He watched them, in a mesmerising trance, as they danced and swirled around his feet. For some strange reason he would always remember the vivid shades of those crimson red, burnt orange and golden yellow leaves.

The breeze became stronger, whipping the leaves into a frenzy of activity as they started to spiral upwards into the air. He found himself being carried along with their journey, as they transported him to another parallel of time, far away from where he was now.

A loud thud of gravel being thrown on top of one of the coffins brought him crashing back down to earth. The priest was looking at him expectantly, as he held out his hand, encouraging the boy to take some of the dirt and follow his lead.

He did as he was told, but before he threw the dirt into the hole, he deftly grabbed a handful of leaves as they fluttered around him. He scrunched them up with the dirt before throwing a small handful on top of each coffin.

The priest patted the boy's arm kindly, mumbling something about giving him a few moments on his own. The small group of mourners passed on their sympathies before wandering off to speak to the priest, until soon he was the only one left at the graveside.

He couldn't remember how long he stood there for. Everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. His eyes were filled with unfallen tears that he couldn't shed because he didn't want to believe they were gone. All he could do was mutter his apologies over and over again, hoping that his guilt would somehow get buried along with their memories.

He jumped as a harsh voice spoke up behind him.

"Time to go HM."

HM looked round to see his soon-to-be foster parents staring at him indifferently. Their faces looked as cold and impersonal as the gravestones themselves. He trudged after them with a heavy heart.

He had a feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

[_Thanks for reading. Hope to post chapter 2 soon (may have to do some research first!). Please review if you have the time – they always inspire me to keep on writing._]


	2. Chapter 2: Uprising of the Phoenix

**Chapter 2: Uprising of the Phoenix**

[_Author's note: The next two chapters are a mixture of direct quotes from extracts I found during research and my own fictional interpretation. I guess we have to bear in mind that there are two sides to every story …._

[_Timeline: 1967 – South Vietnam_]

Murdock had worked with the CIA for nearly six months.

His time with the Thunderbirds' demonstration team was now just a distant memory. It had had been a fantastic and mind-blowing experience for the young pilot. However, because the TBs were part of the United States Air Force, they were also deployed to help with the war effort in Vietnam.

Because of this, and perhaps unintentionally, he developed quite a reputation for being a hot-shot pilot. His knowledge of the South Asian terrain was second to none and it would seem that he had developed a talent for speaking Vietnamese – amongst other languages.

But he was soon to discover that this was a ruthless and politically run war. He didn't enjoy going into combat assault. Not because he was a coward, but because his conscious was telling him that this war wasn't his country's battle to fight.

So when an Agent from the CIA approached him about taking part in a special assignment, which had been sanctioned by the USA, his enquiring and intellectual mind was sufficiently intrigued.

Agent Cheney explained that he was involved in a pacification programme called Operation Phoenix. Murdock thought that this sounded very mysterious and even romantic. After all, it was a well-known fact that the Phoenix was a mythical bird that rose from the ashes to symbolise prosperity and good luck – right?

Wrong! There was nothing romantic or rewarding about Phoenix. The idea was to target civilians – not soldiers - in their rural surrounding, who were suspected of supporting the Viet Cong. The CIA were looking for Intelligence Officers, who could help gather information from informants in hamlets throughout South Vietnam. Murdock appeared to be the perfect candidate. With his excellence flight record and language skills, he could easily infiltrate the barriers to obtain the necessary information.

The names of suspected VC sympathisers and communists were collated into blacklists. These names had been supplied by Murdock and other INTEL operatives. They would go out to the Hamlets and speak to informants who could give them information about VC activity. They would then pass the information on to the Provincial Interrogation Centres who would send out the Hunter Teams to bring the suspects in for questioning.

But Murdock learned pretty quickly that most of the information was without any real foundation or credence. Some of the informants were even harbouring grudges against the suspects, which resulted in wrongful arrests and corruption of the system.

Murdock sighed as he crossed off another name on the list. The latest victim he had brought in had just been neutralised. It had been sickening to watch him being subjected to unimaginable torture. His presence there was purely to supervise the Special Branch Vietnamese Officials as they conducted their interrogation. But the sadistic smile that spread over the interrogator's face told Murdock that he was enjoying himself a little bit too much. He had also seen the same expression on Agent Cheney's face when he had been present at the interrogations.

He was now beginning to feel like some damn Lord High Executioner. He couldn't think of one occasion when a detainee had lived through the interrogation process. Those who did survive died shortly afterwards in the prison cells, under very suspicious circumstances.

Even worse than the Interrogation Centres were the notorious tiger cages at Con Son Prison. He would always remember the first time he walked along the cat walk and peered down between the iron gates into one of the tiny cells. It was nothing short of a living hell.

He could see at least five men shackled to the floor. All had been beaten, some mutilated. Their legs were withered and weak and they scuttled like crabs across the floor. He could hear their hushed voices begging for food - begging for water and begging for mercy. The smell of death and disease hung heavy in the air.

The cells were supposedly reserved for hard-core VC cadre. But all Murdock could see were the faces of 16 year old students, repressed Buddhists and political writers and journalists. Their only crime had been to demonstrate their rights for freedom and democracy.

And there were lots of old men, women and children. As Agent Cheney had explained to him, the theory was that you don't kill the leader, you kill his children or family first. There seemed to be no discrimination as to who was taken prisoner. Everyone would be subject to the beatings, rapes and other excruciating torture that chilled Murdock to the bone.

He had to keep telling himself that none of this was his fault. I mean, it wasn't like _he_ was the one going round terrorizing the villagers into submission. _He_ wasn't part of the Killer Teams who would deal with VC suspects by throwing them out of helicopters or by murdering them in the middle of the night whilst they were sleeping in their hooches.

And _he_ couldn't take the blame for the unfortunate American Seal who blew his own brains out, because he had murdered three innocent civilians by mistake.

Except Murdock _was_ to blame. It had been information gathered by one of _his_ informants that had led to the neutralisation. An informant who, as it transpired later, was a known enemy of the suspect. It was just another grudge killing.

The trigger that killed the Seal, and the other hundreds of men and women before him, was the blacklist. Murdock had indirectly sentenced them all to their deaths.

Hot tears of shame welled up in the pilot's eyes. But he didn't cry, because he didn't want to believe that he was to blame.

So he buried the guilt deep in the dark recess of his mind, next to the memory of his Grandparents. And with every day that went by he became more and more consumed by his own remorse and regret.

[_Soz, I think I have lost direction a bit here. I hope this isn't coming across as some sort of history lesson! I don't wanna dwell too much on the torture side, as I think it might be a little bit distasteful, so I have tried to mix it up and make it a bit more personal to Murdock's mind set._

_The "alleged" torture used by the CIA and Special Branch was truly horrific. For anyone who wants to know the gory details they included: rape, gang rape, rape using eels, snakes, or hard objects, and rape followed by murder; electric shock ('the Bell Telephone Hour') rendered by attaching wires to the genitals or other sensitive parts of the body, like the tongue; the 'water treatment'; the 'airplane' in which the prisoner's arms were tied behind the back, and the rope looped over a hook on the ceiling, suspending the prisoner in mid air, after which he or she was beaten with rubber hoses and whips; and the use of police dogs to maul prisoners._]


	3. Chapter 3: The lost generation

**Chapter 3: The lost generation**

[_Timeline: 1968 – Da Nang_]

A few days after the suicide of the Navy Seal, Murdock resigned from the CIA. He couldn't stomach the brutal and violent acts of intimidation and terrorism tactics that his counterparts seemed all too happy to carry out. They were nothing more than a bunch of ARVN deserters and VC turncoats and criminals. He had decided that he didn't want anything more to do with Operation Phoenix.

So he was transferred to the 101 Airborne Division at Da Nang. It was back to the old familiar territory of flying million dollar aircrafts at 150 MPH, with the enemy taking pot shots at him.

But he still couldn't get away from the pain and destruction of the war. His crew mostly consisted of young 18 and 19 year olds, who became men purely out of the selfless heroism they performed on a daily basis. Most of them were killed before they reached their 21st birthdays.

The missions were many and varied with not too much sleep in between. Even the mundane Ash & Trash missions usually ended in some sort of combat assault.

The problem was, there was nearly always someone that got left behind. Even though Murdock's Huey would be groaning reluctantly as it was laden to well over its weight capacity, there would still be the unlucky few who didn't quite make it out.

The haunted look on their faces would be the last thing Murdock would see as he airlifted his bird from the Landing Zone. He knew they didn't stand a chance against Charlie, who would have already over-run the area before Murdock had even got a chance to reach tree-top level.

There was nothing he could do to save them – he knew that. But it didn't stop that familiar feeling of sorrow and helplessness from plaguing his thoughts.

But seeing his comrades falling like dominoes around him was only half the story. Because the real casualties of this war were the innocent South Vietnam people.

Okay, some knuckleheads might argue that it was impossible to tell who the enemy was, as they mingled discretely amongst the innocent local civilians. After all, it wasn't like the VC were going to supply you with their names, addresses and telephone numbers!

So now every man, woman and child had become the enemy. The American planes and helicopters bombed hospitals, schools and villages. Toxic chemicals and defoliants were dropped along with the dreaded napalm bombs. Murdock was told that the chemicals wouldn't harm the people as they destroyed the forests that had kept the VC hidden, but he had already seen the side effects that would contradict that statement.

Villages were burned and women and children were herded into camps surrounded by barbed wire. Husbands and sons were killed and very few that went into battle ever came back. Children became orphans, beggars and thieves.

In the past Murdock and his fellow-Americans had always been made welcome by the villagers. They would bring candy for the children and food and medicine to the poor and sick. However, as the war dragged on claiming more innocent lives, all Murdock could see was fear and anger on their faces.

"Why do you come and destroy everything?" they would scream at him in Vietnamese. "Our children have no fathers. A whole generation has been killed."

Murdock couldn't answer their questions, because he had been asking himself the very same thing. Those words would come back and fill him with torment and anguish time and time again.

He was choked up with unfathomable grief, but still the tears wouldn't fall. After all, it wasn't all his fault.

Just like it wasn't his fault that he had to leave his helpless comrades behind.

Or had helped the American Seal commit suicide.

Or had condemned hundreds of people to death.

Or had caused his Grandparent's car-crash.

It was getting pretty crowded in the dark recess of Murdock's mind.

[_OMG this is so hard – I think I've bitten off more than I can chew here! I have come to the conclusion that angst really isn't my thing. May try and attempt another two chapters, but it might be a long wait! Please review if you have formed any sort of opinion._]

[_Ash & Trash missions were non-combat duties (ie. cargo lifts, delivery flights, VIP flights._]


	4. Chapter 4: Hanoi Hotel

**Chapter 4: Hanoi Hilton**

[_Timeline: Hoa Lo Prison, Hanoi – 1970_]

Ever since the massive steel doors had clanked shut behind Murdock and the other prisoners, Hoa Lo Prison (which had been nicknamed Hanoi Hilton by the PoWs) had filled him with dread and trepidation. He had been separated from Hannibal, Face and BA right from arrival and taken to a part of the building known as "Little Vegas", which had been especially reserved for captured US pilots.

The interrogation and torture started almost immediately as he was accused of being a war criminal. The interrogators demanded that he give them information regarding future enemy targets. He recited names of north Vietnamese cities that had already been bombed, making his aggressors even more angry at his flippant responses.

The beatings continued for several hours, as the soldiers tried to wear him down into submission. It was the middle of the night and it was eerie how the lamp light distorted the VC's features, making them appear even more sinister in the shadows.

Thinking back to his CIA days, Murdock realised that he had now become the persecuted instead of the persecutor. The irony of the situation made him snigger nervously to himself. This infuriated the guards even more and that's when they started to get really serious.

The soldiers stuffed a filthy rag into his mouth with a rod. Another rag was placed over his face and slowly they poured water on it until Murdock felt like he was breathing in water vapour. He could feel his lungs tightening up with fluid as a drowning sensation over-powered him. As he thrashed around in complete panic, he could hear the chilling words of one of the guards penetrating through the darkness of his mind.

"It's easy to die but hard to live," he said calmly, in a thick Vietnamese accent. "And we'll show you just how hard it is to live."

As Murdock passed out, he remembered offering up a silent prayer to whoever was listening, begging for a quick and merciful release from this nightmare.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Murdock had now been in solitary confinement for nearly three months. He had almost become immune to the relentless beatings and torture, but emotionally the fear of the torture played on his mind more than the torture itself. He had learnt to give very convincing lies to the interrogator's questions, but then he had to try and remember what he had said so as not to arouse their suspicion, which would result in even more arduous torture.

He found that every man had his breaking point as the aim of the torture was to shatter the will of the prisoner. It was with great shame that he finally signed the propaganda statements that criticised the United States conduct during the war and praised the NVA's treatment of PoWs. The confession stuck in his throat and he felt like a traitor every time he thought of the betrayal he had committed.

It didn't help that he had no-one to share his guilt with. Apart from the chorus of the ever-present mosquitoes' wings beating constantly in the background, his only room mates were the big dirty rats, who would run rampant around his feet. They would crawl over his badly dehydrated body and feast on the puss-filled sores of his flaking skin, which was now festering away nicely. As he looked directly into the beady eyes of one particularly ugly rodent, Murdock sensed that the rat thought he was one of them now!

For a man who craved the company of others, being alone was the worst punishment of all. It gave him too much time to contemplate on his previous misgivings. So to stop his mind from self-destructing, he invented a whole new fantasy world.

He imagined himself as a family man, with a beautiful wife, two children and a dog called Billy. He would construct a dream house for them all to live in. He would build it up, brick by brick, slowly in his mind. He'd lay the cement, hammer in every nail and design each room down to the most intricate detail.

When the house was built, he would move on to the garden. He'd lay the lawn, plant the seeds, mark out where to plant the flowers and trees and painted every panel in the white picket fence a million times over.

"Wotcha think, Billy!" he would ask his imaginary friend. He could see Billy wagging his tail enthusiastically at his new master, licking his wounds in a comforting manner.

Unfortunately, there were times when his guilt-ridden conscious would get the better of him. And today was going to be one of those days.

He wasn't sure how long he had sat on the stool with his wrists strapped to his ankles. He had been sitting in the same position for what seemed like an eternity. If he so much as moved a muscle the guards, who were nearly always in close proximity, would pummel him with their fists and rifle butts until they finally tired of their game.

Now and then they would untie him so he could visit the putrid waste bucket in the corner of the room or to eat his maggot-filled soup and stale bread. Dressed in long dark pyjamas, he felt like he was going to melt in the suffocating heat of his tiny cell.

Sitting in a huddled heap of dejection, he found his thoughts wandering to his buddies. He'd been trying desperately hard not to think about them, because after all, it was his fault that they were in this hell hole.

If only he hadn't crashed the damn Huey! He had inserted them deep inside enemy territory, a few clicks outside of Hanoi. Their mission was to blow up a thermal power plant. He had flown back to base and awaited their call for extraction.

However, when the call came through, some dumbass in Command had refused the extraction. There was a bad weather front moving in and they didn't want to risk sending out a Huey.

But Murdock had ignored the orders and went to rescue his buddies. The rain was already beating steadily down and he knew that when it rained in Vietnam, it was like the floodgates of heaven had been opened.

He had picked them up successfully, but shortly afterwards the rain had gotten so bad, Murdock had no choice but to find somewhere to land the slick. Unfortunately, he chose a clearing that was heavily populated by the VC.

They had been captured, stripped and beaten and then taken to one of the camps deep within the jungle. They were paraded into the muddy clearing and thrown into a thatched hut which consisted of a bamboo constructed platform, serving as a communal bed. Sometimes there could be up to 18 prisoners sharing the platform. Although it was excruciatingly hot, they slept underneath a blanket to protect themselves from the mosquitoes.

Unlike the WW2 films Murdock had watched as a kid, there was no guard towers, no search lights and no barbed wire. Instead a crude bamboo fence bordered the compound. Sunlight barely penetrated through the interlocking leafy canopy of branches and vines. They lived in constant fear of being bombed by their own warships and planes.

And of course there was the daily quota of torture thrown in for good measure. That was the hardest part for Murdock to endure. He could deal with his own torture, but seeing his team subjected to the horrors of the VC arsenal was more than he could bear.

His anguish was heightened further when, about two weeks later, they were all thrown blind-folded into a truck one night and driven to Hao Lo Prison. Now he could only imagine what his team mates were going through. He didn't even know if they were alive.

If only he hadn't tried to act like some fucking hero then they wouldn't be in this mess. After all, it wasn't like Colonel Smith's team were a bunch of Girl Guides! They would have been perfectly capable of surviving in the jungle for one night. If he'd waited until the next morning, the storm would have subsided and then he could have made the extraction safely.

He could feel the sting of frustrated tears threatening to make an appearance, but he held them back in a determined manner. A month later, when he had been released from prison with the rest of the team under some amnesty pack, he had already dismissed the memory to the dark recess of his mind.

After all, there were so many voices haunting him, one more cry in the dark wasn't going to make much difference.


	5. Chapter 5: Losing Face

**Chapter 5: Losing Face**

[_Timeline: 1987: Washington DC_]

Murdock hadn't left Face's side since he had come back from the operating theatre. The Lieutenant had lost a lot of blood and looked deathly pale as he lay sleeping in the hospital bed.

Try as he might, Murdock couldn't get the image of Face being shot out of his head. He relived every gruesome moment over and over again, tangling himself up in a web of gut-wrenching emotions at the sight of his best buddy bleeding profusely on the floor.

He couldn't lose Face now. Not like this. Not when it was his fault. Face and Frankie hadn't even wanted to come to the restaurant. Murdock was working there as a waiter and had insisted that they accepted his invitation to dinner.

And Face didn't want to get involved when Murdock spotted a trio of suspicious diners carrying guns. It was only because he made such a fuss about it that Face reluctantly agreed to go along with his half-baked plan of trying to disarm the men.

Finally, with Hannibal's and BA's intervention, they had managed to turn the hostage situation round to their advantage. He had tried to take his anger out on the mobster who had shot Face down. He had punched him repeatedly in a fit of blind rage, until Frankie finally had to pull him back.

Murdock held Face's hand as tight as he could. He wanted him to know that he wasn't on his own. He bit back the urge to spill his tears, because this wasn't the time to be weak. He wasn't going to lay his guilt at his friend's doorstep.

He knew why Face had agreed to help him. Face always did what Murdock wanted. No matter how stupid or far-fetched his ideas were, Face would always back him up. He was his partner-in-crime and together they had taken on the injustices of life over the years since they had met.

Several hours later Hannibal and BA came into the room. Murdock hadn't moved from his seat. He had anxiously watched over Face with a fierce, over-whelming sense of duty and loyalty. He had flinched at every painful spasm of Face's body and had listened intently to every rasping breath he made.

"Why don't you go home and get some rest, Captain?" Hannibal had ordered in a gentle but firm voice. "We can take it from here."

Murdock looked up at him, his intense brown eyes full of defiance. Before he could say anything he felt a tug of his hand and heard Face's hushed voice reaching out to him.

"Not … your …. fault!" he stuttered slowly.

Murdock glanced back at Face and returned his concerned gaze with a surprised look.

How did he always know what he was thinking? Perhaps it was because Faceman knew Murdock probably better than he knew himself. He could read Murdock like a book, understanding every mood and gesture that made Murdock feel insecure.

Face nodded back encouragingly at him, still managing to light up a 100 watt light bulb with his heart-warming smile. He knew that Murdock wouldn't leave until he was sure he was okay.

Murdock reluctantly got up from the chair. He leant forward and kissed Face affectionately on the forehead.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he said softly. "Don't you go chasing any nurses whilst I'm gone!"

Face nodded in reply and then drifted off to sleep again.

BA gave him the keys to the van. Hannibal told him to go back to the house in Langley, where Frankie was waiting. He thought the Captain would want to be with someone rather than being on his own.

But Murdock didn't go back to Langley. Instead he drove to his apartment, preferring the solitude of his own company. He collapsed into the armchair and held his head in his hands.

With a heavy sigh, he added his new-found guilt to the other buried memories of his tormented mind. And that was when 25 years of tears started to cascade down his cheeks.

He had never really cried before – not like this.

Sure, he'd cried out of self-pity from his own pain and suffering.

He'd had breakdowns where he had lost sight of reality and reason.

He'd woken up from nightmares, whimpering like a baby, shaking with fear and despondency.

Only this time he didn't cry for himself. He cried for the persecuted voices in his head that were screaming out for retribution.

Face's words suddenly cut through his anguish. "Not your fault," he had said.

Only it was his fault. And if Face died, Murdock was sure he would never be able to forgive himself.

**Fini**

[_Thanks for reading. I'm not going to drag this out any longer as I am now feeling totally depressed, so will end it here. As always, reviews are most welcome._]


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